Wrong Number
by PlonkerOnDaLoose
Summary: There are pick up lines and there are pick up lines. This is one of the latter. Rogue encounters the mansion's new Cajun recruit. ROMY one-shot


Disclaimer:

yeah, I own nothing. Coca-Cola, Marvel, Fox. Bastards

_beta'd by IcedBlaze_. Hugs and cyber-kisses to you on your holiday

* * *

**Wrong Number**

There are pick up lines are there are pick up lines. This is one of the latter. Rogue meets the mansion's Cajun recruit.

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_Stop making the eyes at me  
And I'll stop making the eyes at you  
But what is it that surprises me  
Is that I don't really want you to_  
'I Bet that You Look Good on the Dance Floor' – Arctic Monkeys

The news that they were getting a new student spread like wildfire around the mansion. Remy LeBeau was the name, they were told, though that left a lot to the imagination. Boy or girl? How old? American, or maybe something different? Something more exotic? Kitty had her sights on an Englishman, "A real one," she said, "one who drinks tea with a totally cute accent."

"You can't drink tea with an accent," John pointed out, something greener than smugness lurking in his smirk. "Ten bucks the FNG can go invisible," he said, starting up the old tradition of betting on what powers the newcomer possessed. Bobby guessed psionic blasts, Jubilee went for some kind of crazy pheromonal lust magic and Piotr for low-grade telekinesis.

"How about an omni-linguist? Someone who can, like, speak alien languages and stuff," Kitty suggested eagerly, turning to her friend. "Penny for your thoughts, Rogue?"

Rogue opened her mouth to respond when she heard the Professor's voice echo around her mind. _Would you please meet me in my office as soon as possible Rogue?_ She grimaced, got to her feetand swung her bag over her shoulder. "Sorry ya'll, but the Professor jus' asked meh tah meet him ASAP. Save meh a seat in Biology Jubes, alright?"

"You betcha."

She hurried along panelled corridor after panelled corridor, her old sneakers squeaking on the wood. She really had to get new ones. This pair was practically decaying on her feet and Jubilee had almost had an aneurysm when she donned them the morning just gone. "That's cruelty," she declared. "Cruelty to feet. You, _chica_, are the Cruella De Vil of sneakers."

Personally, Rogue didn't see what was so bad about them. Sure, they were a little tatty, but so what? No one was going to die upon catching sight of her socks through the rips. She was hardly going to meet someone important, someone she needed to impress, on such a rainy Wednesday in March. And if she so happened to meet her future husband (as Kitty said every morning), he would damn well love her for who she was and not what socks she was wearing (bright orange, bearing the legend FOXY LADY with a pattern of jiving foxes wearing teeny-tiny sunglasses).

She arrived at the Professor's office to find the door closed. The Professor politely informed her that he was delayed in a meeting and asked her if she would mind waiting a little while. For his benefit, Rogue tried hard to think of the feelings of sincere distraught that shook her at the prospect of missing the start of Biology before she promptly took a seat. Rummaging through her bag, she unearthed the book Professor Summers had assigned them for English Literature, _Animal Farm_, and started reading. Embroiled in the world of talking pigs, she registered the arrival of a second person, who sat down beside her, but neglected to look up.

_Doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do-do_

Rogue started. It was the Nokia ringtone, she was sure of it. Only it didn't sound like it was coming from a cell. She shrugged it off and continued reading.

_Doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do-do … Doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do-do_

Rogue paused. It was coming from the boy sitting beside her. He was humming it like she would the new Beyoncé. Her curiosity got the better of her and she tore her eyes away from her book to watch him patting himself down for a cell. Subconsciously, she tucked her feet under her chair and out of sight. First impressions were everything, though the teen's scruffy charm was somewhat spoiled by his riffling through the pockets of his trench coat for a cell that didn't even exist.

Coming up short, he glanced over at her, holding up his hands in surrender. "Dat y' cell ringin', _chére?_"

Rogue shook her head, perplexed. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, his accent registered. Cajun. _Exotic_. And that hair! A shaggy mop of auburn, contained by a strip of red cloth bound around his head. A little _Deer _Hunter-ish, but he totally pulled it off. And his eyes, rubies on black velvet, a sunset at midnight, a physical mark of his Mutation to match her own; his skin, dusted gold from years spent in the Louisiana sun working on those lean muscles the trench coat failed to veil; the curve of his jaw, strong, peppered with just enough stubble to prove his eternal masculinity without going overboard and channelling that old guy from Harry Potter (or the Wolverine); the single gold earring, saying I'm a pirate, up for a bit of fun, I can handle the pain; long, clever fingers with surprisingly neat nails – and those lips, full lips grinning as he sang,

_Doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do-do … Doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do-do_

Her confusion was rapidly morphing into something akin to half-scornful, half-amused. She gave a little laugh and shook her head. Was he making fun of her? Or was this what Cajuns did for kicks? Impersonate cell phones? Or a standard Louisiana greeting, perhaps? They were all Swamp Rats, after all.

But it was such a pity, she mused as an after thought. Those lips were to die for, if one would pardon the pun.

_Doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do-do_

"Y' sure?"

"Yes, Ah'm sure," Rogue asserted, now a little suspicious. If he wanted to make a fool of himself, that was fine by her. She would just sit here and wait for the Professor, pretending not to look at him or wonder just how his eyes manage to burn intensely enough to light a fire in her belly– while remaining as innocent as a puppy.

A very, _very _cute puppy.

_Doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do doodle-loo-do-do_

He leaned sideways with a boneless grace, reaching for something down the side of his chair. He dipped into his school bag and surfaced clutching a plastic bottle of Coca-Cola, brand new.

_Doodle-loo-do doodle-loo– _

He unscrewed the cap with a hiss and fizz and, miraculously, the incessant cell stopped ringing, as if someone had pressed the accept call button. Like one would with a normal cell, he held the bottle up to his ear. "_Bonjour?_ … Oh."

Turning to face her, he held out the bottle.

"It's for y'."

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So, whaddaya think? My first ever romy. I'm so fickle, I know, going from ryro to kyro to romy. Hope yis enjoyed it and be sure to REVIEW _– _even if it's just to tell me to stay AWAY from your sacred romies. LOL

Cheers, Plonksie


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